


Warmth From the Cold

by liptonrm



Series: ficmas day in the morning [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst and Feels, Character Study, Christmas, Gen, Golden Age (Narnia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 01:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liptonrm/pseuds/liptonrm
Summary: On the longest night, Edmund remembers.





	

The night closed in around Cair Paravel. The wind howled around the parapets, the sound of the freezing, pounding sea its deep accompaniment. Mere hours before the castle had brimmed with warmth and light, a feast, a celebration of their survival from the darkest nights.

But now every wall and window creaked, echoes of the frozen land just outside. The cacophony drove Edmund from his restless sleep and out into the lonely halls, dim candles the only light, their flickering flames turning familiar floors into strange, haunted paths.

The cold seeped into his bones, a reminder of days spent colder still, frozen in body, heart, and mind. Memories flashed through his mind, a glittering statue of a woman, ice all around, the screams and shouts, the emptiness that only the deepest cold could bring. He despised those memories, but his own past actions, his terrible thoughts, pierced him even deeper. Shame was a living thing, crouched deep in his heart, gnawing on him as he paced and turned and longed to forget.

He had done so many terrible things.

His heavy feet found their way to the Great Hall. Long, full evergreen garlands hung across the ceiling and strung high over the hearth where the yule log still burned, embers banked and waiting for morning. Table and trestle still stood, ranked across the Hall, awaiting the great Christmas feast to come.

But above all, a great Living Pine dominated the Hall, its boughs soaring to the very ceiling--a gift from the forest itself, to be returned once the celebrations ceased. It was festooned with ribbons and delicate balls--some glass, some metal, some wood--gifts from every part of their land. Near its boughs they had danced their revels, king and queen, friend and subject, family all. Now, in a darkness broken only by deep orange ember and cold moonlight, Edmund could see the flash of Susan's smile, the glint Peter's golden hair, could hear the peal of Lucy's laugh; so much warmth to chase away the cold.

He dropped into a chair near the hearth, the stone still radiating heat. He let his mind wander, wrapped himself in memories of warmth and family. He was not the only one in Narnia haunted by winter's chill. He saw it the memory of ice in Tumnus's eyes, heard it in the cold, midnight howl of the Wolf on watch.

He knew who he was, but he could never forget who he had been. The ice and the snow would not let him.

He dozed--long moments stretched like thick caramel by the slow blinking of his eyes, sleep a hard-won friend.

A sound, a presence woke him, heart racing, all dreams swept away. He stared but could not see, the room a maze of dark shapes, only the dimmest of embers and cold starlight to illuminate his way. He fingers grasped fruitlessly around the absence of a knife he had not thought to carry.

Edmund spied it, then. A darker shape, moving within the shadow of the Great Tree's boughs. He stood. He would meet this intruder on his feet.

“Merry Christmas, young king,” a deep, merry voice resounded through the darkness.

Edmund smiled, all tension swept away. Every being in Narnia knew that voice, would recognize it on any cold, dark night when snow piled high around.

“Merry Christmas, sir,” Edmund replied and bowed a shallow bow, respect shown to one who deserved it.

Light grew in the room. Small points burst into brilliance on the tree. They flared white and true, no candle's yellow flame. It was as if the stars themselves had descended at Father Christmas's command.

“You are not the only Narnian I have found restless this night.” Father's Christmas's voice was solemn and kind. He did not judge, did not condemn. He stated a truth, an observation made by a caring heart.

“I know, sir.” Edmund did know. He could never forget.

“Remember that. You are not the only one who found your way by a crooked path.” He laughed, then, a joyous peal, all solemnity gone. “Come, enough of that. I have a gift for you.”

“Oh, no sir, I couldn't,” Edmund sputtered. “It's too early, the others aren't yet awake.”

Father Christmas smiled, good-natured gaiety sparkling in his eyes. “Do not fret. 'Tis the gift you did not receive last year.” He held out a box of rich dark wood.

Edmund reached and took it. It was heavier than he had expected. With careful hands he opened the top and blinked. No sword or bow met his gaze, but silver and gold chess pieces arrayed upon an exquisite board.

“Not a prudent gift for one riding into battle,” Father Christmas answered Edmund's unspoken question. “But this game will serve a king well. There is more to war, or to governance, than a sharp sword.”

Edmund nodded, solemn and sure. He clutched the box closer to his chest. “Thank you, sir. I will use it well.”

“I know you will, your majesty.” Father Christmas rested a hand on Edmund's shoulder, the warmth spreading through him, his eyes drooping and reminding him of sleep. “To bed with you, now,” he said with a gentle push. “The dawn comes soon.”

Bare moments later found Edmund nestled down into his warm, soft bed. His gift lay on the table beside him. He would show his brother and sisters when morning came. 

He slept and dreamed of all of the games yet to come.


End file.
